


Don't Wanna Know

by wilyprimadonna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3503996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilyprimadonna/pseuds/wilyprimadonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That night, he admits to himself that yes, he wants to kiss Bokuto Koutarou, and yes, the lust is coupled with romantic feeling in a magnitude that scares him to the core.  He refuses to move from the fetal position on his bed."</p>
<p>A short portrait of realization and contemplation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Wanna Know

It’s the knee pads, he’s absolutely certain, that started this whole madness.  He’s never given them much thought before, but when Bokuto jumps for a spike one practice (perfectly executed, first years drawing in a breath at the _snap_ of their captain’s palm against the ball, at the _crack_ as it slams onto the floor), the tiny flash of pale leg between the fluttery shorts and skintight spandex dries up his mouth and forces him to wipe his suddenly sweaty palms on his t-shirt.  Bokuto is so casual, yelling and slinging an arm around Akaashi's shoulders in celebration, but Akaashi feels thrumming in his veins and heat in his stomach as he shakes off the gesture.  He can faintly smell Bokuto’s hair gel, clean and masculine; he feels lightheaded.  

“Bokuto-san, please keep in mind personal space,” he says, feigning normalcy and pretending to straighten his t-shirt to avoid making eye contact.  In his peripheral vision, Bokuto visibly deflates, looking sulky and _what the hell,_ absolutely adorable.

_Where are these thoughts coming from?_ Akaashi feels a vague dissatisfaction at the universe as he resumes his stance, waiting for the next serve. 

Practice continues, and all things go to hell. He tries to appeal to whatever gods are out there for the duration of practice to give him focus and a narrower field of vision. Bokuto's practically hand-feeding him glimpses of skin with every spike, and Akaashi feels an intense need to retreat to somewhere quiet to process all of this, whatever _this_ is.  He gives a pointed stare to Komi – _mind your own business, please don’t ask any questions_ – when the latter arches a questioning eyebrow at a missed set just before practice ends, and it contains just enough sharpness to ward off any jokey comments in the locker room. 

(Truth be told, Akaashi had been busy staring at Bokuto’s forearms during a particularly well-executed receive; trying to explain that would have been embarrassing and an ordeal, and decidedly not something he cared to experience.)

 

Later, Akaashi finds himself in the shower at home as he thinks about that missed set and its cause, which somehow drifts into thinking about Bokuto’s skin, muscles, _body -_   

_Shit,_ Akaashi thinks, and turns the water all the way cold. 

 

+++++

 

That night, he admits to himself that yes, he wants to kiss Bokuto Koutarou, and _yes,_ the lust is coupled with romantic feeling in a magnitude that scares him to the core.  He refuses to move from the fetal position on his bed, dinner churning in his stomach.

It’s been a long time coming, if he’s honest with himself.  The longer they’re together, the easier it is for him to see how well they work, on the court and off.  The beginning was rocky, of course - Bokuto, vice-captain then, was too touchy and too enthusiastic, limbs and emotions everywhere, the human embodiment of a natural disaster.  It took some getting used to, the other person in a newfound partnership basically being a golden retriever – but along the way, something’s definitely clicked.  Akaashi, against his better judgement, feels safe here in the familiar touches and camaraderie. Loud laughter and wry comments build the structure of their national-level team, and he knows, deep down, that he really wouldn’t have it any other way. 

 

+++++

 

At 2 A.M., Akaashi makes an executive decision with his brain to keep all of these sentimental contemplations carefully locked away. 

 

+++++               

                                  

The next day is hardly better.  At lunch, Bokuto sprints up to him, uniform tie askew, and Akaashi has to fight the urge to straighten it as he does normally. His hands feel itchy, but last night’s resolve is still fresh on his mind, and he worries that extra tactility might open even more doors to sexual frustration.  He has to fight the urge to grimace as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

 They sit on their usual bench, but the atmosphere feels different to Akaashi, even though nothing has outwardly changed. He considers the half foot of space between them, how Bokuto thinks nothing of stealing drinks from his water bottle even when he arches an eyebrow and makes a disapproving noise.

“That’s unsanitary, Bokuto-san,” he snipes, not really meaning it; this has been their routine for so long now. 

“Hey hey hey, Akaashi, c’mon!  You can’t have your _ace_ dehydrated for practice!” says Bokuto, cheerful and grinning as he steals a grape from Akaashi’s Tupperware container.  Bokuto leaves the water bottle unscrewed between them. He always drinks the rest of it before lunch ends, because Akaashi always lets him. 

They pore over volleyball formations for the rest of lunch, and seeing Bokuto’s large, blocky handwriting next to his own neat script sends warm tendrils of happiness somewhere behind his sternum, which he tries his best to ignore.  Akaashi is vaguely reminded of his sister’s shoujo manga that materializes flowers whenever the protagonist and love interest interact, and resolutely decides: _Snap out of it_.  _Now._  

They trade a pen back and forth as arrows and stick figures (Bokuto draws spiky hair on his) materialize on Akaashi’s notebook, and when their hands brush, Akaashi doesn’t quite startle, but there’s… _something_. He files the hand-touching away in his brain for later rumination, placing it right between _water bottle_ and _casual volleyball touches_.

“Man, Akaashi, you’re out of it today! This isn’t like you,” Bokuto says as he grabs the pen back, correcting Konoha’s stick figure that Akaashi drew out of position while he was contemplating the sorrows of acting like a shoujo manga heroine. “Are you sick?”  Bokuto furrows his brows and droops the corners of his mouth down. He looks _cute._ Akaashi thinks again about how little space there is between them, how he could maybe touch that frown with his fingers and make it a smile. 

“No, Bokuto-san, I’m perfectly fine,” he replies, inner turmoil covered up by his cool tone and deliberately bored expression.  He’s never been more glad for his ability to control his outward emotions. “I was just up late last night.” 

He smiles to make the statement convincing, but when the tension in Bokuto’s face eases, it turns into a real one. 

_This is fine,_ he thinks firmly and deliberately, _I can be content with this._  

 

(He can’t quite decide if he’s convinced himself of this, which is really an answer in itself.)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this idea for awhile, because I just really think that Akaashi is the type to REFUSE to make any decisions if he's not sure of 100% of the facts, and crushes....well, crushes deviate from that ideology (especially because it concerns Bokuto, that lovely boy). I was originally going to write this in two parts, with a getting-together second half that was all planned out, but I decided I kind of like leaving pining Akaashi be...so here it is. 
> 
> I love reading your comments, and thank you so much for reading!


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